


Who's Standing Tomorrow

by lori (zakhad)



Series: Captain and Counselor [16]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-20
Updated: 2009-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-04 16:59:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zakhad/pseuds/lori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Picard on leave frequently results in anything but a relaxing experience. When he goes on an archeological expedition, an old acquaintance returns with a proposition for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who's Standing Tomorrow

~~~~~

_It's all about soul  
It's all about joy that comes out of sorrow  
It's all about soul  
Who's standing now and who's standing tomorrow  
You've got to be hard  
Hard as the rock in that old rock 'n' roll  
But that's only part, you know in your heart  
It's all about soul_

_~~ Billy Joel_

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The night was too quiet. The room too dark -- no starlight, no glow of control panels, no underlying vibration of warp engines. Just a cold and lonely bed in a hotel room, on a colony world called Zanzibar.

Jean-Luc heard himself sighing yet again, and threw off the heavy covers. "Merde. This is ridiculous."

He got up and dressed, in a pair of the thick pants he'd brought for the expedition and a sweater over one of his shirts. Even spring on Zanzibar was colder than any winter's day in France.

The bar was relatively quiet; handfuls of people sat close around tables, talking in muted tones. No one looked up when he walked in. He took a stool at the bar and the bartender, a scruffy-looking individual whose hair must've lost a battle with a squadron of Klingons, put up a glass and waited for his order to fill it.

"Got any German beer?"

The bartender's face didn't twitch. He turned, pulled a bottle from the wall of bottles behind him -- strange, Jean-Luc would have thought that was just for show -- and popped the cap off. Tipping the glass, he poured all but the last third of it and left the bottle sitting next to it on the bar.

Jean-Luc sipped and studied the wall of bottles, counting up the different languages on the labels, musing on the peculiarities of trade across the reaches of space that made it possible to sip lager on a planet across the quadrant. It kept him from thinking about how much he missed Deanna.

His eyes wandered down the room. Since this was a colony of mostly humans and a minority of other races, this looked like any bar one might find on Earth. Zanzibar was a mining colony, but one of the most recent operations had uncovered what looked to be remains of extinct inhabitants, or possibly of a previous colony. The quest to find out which was what had brought him there.

This was Deanna's doing. He had intended to gracefully refuse the invitation from Gary Conklin, but she'd asked him why he wasn't going -- he hadn't been on an archeological expedition in several years, thanks to crisis after crisis and long tours of duty in the war and along the Romulan Neutral Zone. As usual, she encouraged him to indulge -- and since she had been his only indulgence for months, he couldn't refuse. She knew he enjoyed archeology, and opportunities to participate were rare. This particular dig was close enough to the Zone that it made things convenient. That she wasn't coming with him hadn't been bothersome, as his attention had turned to the details and he'd gotten excited about the prospect.

Then he'd spent half a day on a transport after the Enterprise dropped him off on a starbase, and the emptiness had grown.

Now in the middle of his first night on Zanzibar, the full impact hit -- she really wasn't going to be there. On the transport he could look at the ship walls and halfway delude himself she was on board somewhere. A mining colony wasn't a likely vacation spot for Deanna Troi, however, and though she could rough it as well as the next officer, it wasn't what she thought of as fun.

Added to that was the realization that though they had spent a few days of leave here and there on various starbases and layovers, he'd never taken her on a real vacation. And here he was, spending two weeks without her, digging in the mud.

He rubbed his forehead wearily and drank up, waving his hand for another beer. Alcohol might not be as effective as a tranquilizer, but he'd probably need what was in his first aid kit in the near future, as there wasn't likely a bar next to the dig and hypos were easier to carry.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"So what brings you here, Leigh?"

The nervous lieutenant couldn't seem to focus; her wide brown eyes kept traveling around Deanna's office. She put a hand to her carefully-pinned french braid, as if there were some likelihood of it coming undone suddenly.

"I've been aboard for almost a year. I enjoy being on the Enterprise -- I've learned so much here. It's an honor to be aboard the flagship of the Federation, under Captain Picard. But -- "

Deanna waited patiently. One of her best qualifications for counseling -- waiting didn't come easy to many.

"But I still haven't met the captain," Leigh blurted at last.

Years of practice kept the sigh of resignation from being expressed. This was often the first thing out of the mouths of many an H.C.O.T.O., as she had come to refer in the privacy of her notes to those who developed impossible infatuations -- a hopeless crush on the officer. Deanna had seen an upswing of cases since Command began cycling more cadets through the Enterprise every six months. Most were directed toward the captain; some focused on another senior officer, the present favorite being Carlisle, though she'd seen one who had stammered about Data for ten minutes and raced from her office, embarrassed once the words had actually been uttered aloud.

Most of these amounted to nothing, and died shortly after she listened to the person finish talking about it. She guessed she only saw the ones who couldn't dismiss them without verbalizing them. In conversations with her fellow ship's counselors, she'd learned this sometimes happened on other ships as well, among the youngest of the crew especially.

"Was there something you wanted to speak to the captain about? Advancement opportunities, perhaps?"

"Actually. . . ." Leigh dropped her eyes and fidgeted. "I did meet him, once. He was in astrometrics, replaying the last war games with Captain Riker, and I went in to get something I'd forgotten when my shift was over. They were laughing. Captain Picard was. . . smiling, and it. . . ."

Deanna thought she could guess. Right down to exactly what kind of smile Jean-Luc had worn, to send this poor girl toes over tonsils. Probably the same smile she often tried to tease out of him.

"I'm afraid I don't quite understand. Did you speak to the captain? Was there something he said that upset you, or -- "

"No. I -- I just got my padd and left again, and I couldn't stop thinking about -- and I see him every once in a while, you know, walking around the ship. . . ."

Deanna couldn't wait as long this time. "Leigh, perhaps you should sum up why it is you came to me, so we can discuss it more productively."

"I know you and the captain are sleeping together."

It was a good thing Leigh wasn't looking at her. Deanna snapped her mouth shut as quickly as it dropped open. She'd wondered how Leigh had missed the gossip circulating -- well, she hadn't. Next question was, what exactly was Leigh's problem?

"Does that bother you?" Not bad, for a quick recovery.

"I was hoping. . . ."

Deanna folded her hands in her lap and watched the woman fidget some more. Leigh cleared her throat, glanced up, looked down again.

"Could you tell me what it's like?"

"Like?" Deanna nearly slapped her own head for being caught off guard. Hearing this in counseling wasn't the same as hearing it from Beverly -- she'd never guessed it might come from the lips of a patient. Beverly could tease her mercilessly about it, but this? Leigh was serious, Deanna could sense that -- not to mention the desire and intense curiosity.

"I just want to know, for myself, I wouldn't tell anyone -- "

"Can you think of any reason why I would tell you what you want to know?" Unfortunately, that came out with a hint of indignance. Just a hint.

Leigh looked up finally and burst into tears, cheeks reddening. Deanna pulled a drawer open and passed a handkerchief across the desk, tempted to take one for herself as well.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Jean-Luc met the rest of the group at sunrise on the edge of town, barely in time -- he'd almost overslept, the third alarm finally registering in his alcohol-fuzzed brain. He slung his pack to the ground as he came up to the all-terrain vehicle and leaned it against the treads. Gary leaped down from the cabin door and held out a hand, grinning affably.

"Good to have you with us, Jean-Luc. For a while I thought you wouldn't make it after all. The last outing we were on together you were there early."

"But that was easier to get to -- Zanzibar's off the beaten path, out here. How many do we have along?"

"There's six of us, including your lady friend."

Jean-Luc flinched. "What?"

"Vash said we should invite you along."

"Vash," he blurted. "How the hell did she get involved?"

"Don't sound so happy, Jean-Luc," came the familiar amused voice from above.

He looked up at the open door of the vehicle. Vash hadn't changed; she smiled down at him, and jumped, landing in the mud and straightening. She wore a blue coverall, that did, yet still managed to cling to her figure. His initial ire faded somewhat.

"It's just a bit of a surprise -- your name wasn't on the list of participants."

"I wasn't sure I'd be able to make it. I've been doing a lot of legwork for Carl." Her eyes flicked down and back, taking him in. "You look good, Jean-Luc. Still with the *Enterprise?*"

Gary glanced between them, backed a few steps, took Jean-Luc's pack, and disappeared around the vehicle. Jean-Luc smiled and relaxed somewhat -- she hadn't run up and hugged him, or tried any other embarrassing behavior. "Same name, different model. A lot's changed. You're with Carl Blumenthal?"

"Signed on last year. It's been interesting having some funding. This should be an interesting one -- we're the first ones in."

Gary reappeared and started up the short ladder. "Saddle up, gang, we've got some traveling to do."

It quickly became obvious why the primitive conveyance had been chosen rather than an antigrav vehicle. Once out of the protective force field dome over the main city of Zanzibar, the wind rattled the vehicle slightly -- the reason for the wind-blasted bare grey metal sides became clear. Debris blew by the windows traveling at right angles to the ground. Any metal would be scoured clean of paint or finish in such conditions.

Jean-Luc rode in the back, opposite Vash; she'd made herself at home near the driver, and kept glancing back at him. He fell into casual conversation with Blumenthal, only to hear nothing but praise for his assistant. Gary absorbed himself in some reading, sitting further away along the side of the compartment. The noise the vehicle made as they ground along prohibited conversation beyond a few feet. Opposite Gary sat a Vulcan, bundled in warm clothing and a thick coat like the others, yet still looking slightly uncomfortable. They'd all put coats on after leaving the dome. The cold seeped through the metal and transparent aluminum and seemed to drive itself into the bone.

They reached the site four hours later. A smaller dome, left in place by the mining company out of courtesy, had been erected over the six square kilometers of terrain. Some of the mining equipment still sat idle along one side of the artificial canyon. Their vehicle rumbled down the narrow road and lurched to a halt in the bottom, and everyone tumbled out into the rust-tinted dust.

Gary paused to make full formal introductions, which he'd obviously waited to do because one of their party, Zennig, was already at the site. Jean-Luc filed the information away for future reference: Carl Blumenthal, from the museum in Alexandria; Gary's assistant Zennig, who was of a species unknown to Jean-Luc; and Soldek, professor of archeology at the Vulcan Academy. Soldek greeted him with the barest courtesy, as those of his race who did not normally deal with offworlders were wont to do, and raised his eyebrow when Jean-Luc greeted him in his own tongue.

They erected their tents along the flat space where Zennig had already put his up; Jean-Luc asked Soldek a leading question about a paper the Vulcan had written, and listened with interest as he helped the professor erect his tent and set up the heating equipment. With that accomplished, he turned to his own tent-building, putting his as far from Vash's as possible -- with two of the other two-man tents between them, he wouldn't have to see much of her at the end of the day. Given their brief liaison previously, that was probably wise.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Deanna had intended to go to her own quarters, but caught up in her thoughts of the day's appointments, she found herself standing in Jean-Luc's.

She looked around as if she'd walked into the room for the first time. The lights had come up automatically. She'd been there alone any number of times, but they felt empty this time -- because he wasn't on the ship. Because he was light-years away, happily digging up bits of pottery, or metal, or whatever.

She had returned to her quarters the previous night and managed to sleep, at least for a while. She'd awakened repeatedly expecting to feel him beside her, or at least to sense his presence somewhere nearby. His complete absence felt something like sensory deprivation.

Loneliness struck her once again, more acute thanks to her location. Deanna turned to leave, but couldn't make her feet move toward the door. Instead, she slowly walked into the bedroom, where she'd said good-bye to him -- she hadn't gone to the transporter room to see him off, that would have been too difficult. In the bedroom she could pretend he was simply heading for the bridge.

One of his shirts lay draped across the back of a chair. She picked it up and buried her face in it. Chiding herself for being immature and silly, she tossed it down and turned to leave.

At the door, she halted, then did an about-face and headed for the bathroom.

Disrobing and removing makeup lulled her into routine, and she brushed out her hair just the way he --

She stopped and put down the brush. A bottle of perfume she hadn't noticed before sat on the corner of the sink. Turning it up, she found the tiny swan printed on the bottom of the crystal. A quick spritz in the air, and a sweet, light scent filled her nostrils. He'd left this for her to find, just a small gift, but one of a continuing series of them. He favored perfumes and scented items for her, usually picking ones of Earth origin -- a kind of cultural exchange. Some of her gifts for him had been Betazoid. All were given without verbal acknowledgment; the accepted method of thanking the giver was simply to make use of the gift. Like so many other aspects of their relationship, it had become another level of subtle communication.

She misted her hair with two bursts of the perfume and put it with the others. Her heart ached, so acutely that her eyes watered. Her body ached -- it wasn't sex she wanted, even, it was simply his touch, the warmth of his body, the smell of his skin. It hurt to not have him there. He hadn't been out of her sensing range once since they'd started this relationship, eight months ago. It was like losing a limb.

She crawled into bed naked, unable to bear wearing any of the silk negligees -- it would remind her of being caressed through them. She tossed restlessly, then got the shirt from the chair and pulled it on. One of the pips snagged her hair -- he'd left them on the collar, and she hadn't noticed in her distracted state. She ran her fingers down the four metal studs. Leaving them there, she curled up in bed again, pulling a pillow into her arms.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Jean-Luc retired to his tent shortly after dinner, exhausted from their walking tour of the site and the ensuing work. Clearing large amounts of soil, though helped along by their equipment, was still a major task. He'd worked alongside Soldek most of the day. Carl and Vash had kept a loud running dialogue going some distance to their right as they moved dirt with brief bursts from air blowers and shovels, and on the other side Gary and mostly-silent Zennig.

He sat on the cot, ignoring the way the side of the tent brushed his head, and removed his boots. He almost tucked them under the cot, then smiled and left them standing along the wall of the tent, in memory of the person who would have come through and put them away, had she been there.

In the bottom of his pack under the disposable cleaning cloths, he found a box he hadn't packed. How like Deanna to do something like this -- but it made him feel worse than before. It worsened yet again when he opened the box, and found a single curl of her hair tied in a red ribbon. The bottom of the box -- or the lid, for that matter -- bore a small silhouette of a leaping fish. She'd started this practice, leaving small gifts tagged with a fish symbol for him to find. He wondered if she'd found the one he'd left for her yet.

He closed the box and shoved it back in the pack, putting the curl on his pillow. When he'd stripped down and pulled the thermal sleeping bag around him, he couldn't sleep. Was she missing him this way? His chest felt hollow and he couldn't seem to breathe. How could his *skin* hurt? He twisted the lock of her hair in his fingers and sniffed it. Amazingly, it still held a faint hint of perfume -- one of the floral scents he'd given her, too weak to identify specifically.

Footsteps outside crunched up to his tent. "You're turning in pretty early. It's not even dark yet."

"I'm tired, Vash."

The tent flap opened, and she peered inside. "Too tired to catch up with an old friend?"

He chuckled dryly. "I'm an older friend than you, and it's been a long time since I've had a real vacation. I'm not used to this much physical labor. I'll probably be more alert tomorrow."

"Is that a brush-off, or can I ask how Jean-Luc Picard's career is going?"

"Well enough. Always a new challenge around the corner. Life aboard the ship is always changing -- I've lost a few senior officers since you were aboard. That happens. Can't keep good officers forever." He shifted in the bag, looking at her a little more directly. She balanced on one knee just inside the flap, dragging her fingers through her hair -- obviously she'd just come from the sonic showers. She'd be caked in grime otherwise. The red dirt got in everything.

"Ever think about giving up Starfleet and your cold lonely bed for some freelance adventure and fun?"

He heard the hint of invitation in it. Testing him. Chuckling again, he shook his head. "Nope. Not a thought."

"Maybe you just need the right incentive."

"Mmm. . . possible, but not likely to come along any time soon." The lock of hair slipped around his pinky with length to spare. Abruptly, the remembered scent of her perfume took him for a moment to his quarters, where at this moment Deanna was probably getting ready for bed -- ship's time and Zanzibar time were that different, which accounted for how tired he was, he realized. His body had wanted to get ready for bed, so he had -- he'd joined Deanna to that end, as usual. The queer hollow sensation returned, only worse. Of course -- in both senses, his heart was missing.

Vash's voice jolted him back to the tent. "Maybe you should clarify things, before I take that personally."

"Maybe you should get some sleep yourself."

She measured him briefly, then let the flap fall shut. "Good night, Jean-Luc," she said archly. She crunched away to her tent.

Jean-Luc brought the curl of Deanna's hair out of the bag and twirled it, sighing. "Thank you, cygne, for the elephant repellant. I used it well. I miss you."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Deanna left early for her office. Sitting for hours in his empty quarters or hers -- either way it was a depressing prospect. She ate breakfast without tasting it while at her desk going through notes for a paper she'd decided to write in Jean-Luc's absence.

When her thoughts refused to stop returning to him, she set aside the notes. "Computer, display the details of the archeological dig currently under way on Zanzibar."

The site description seemed vague -- some evidence of buildings, buried under the blowing dust and centuries old. The mining company working the site had generously volunteered to relocate operations to another location temporarily while the excavation took place.

She brought up the list of participants and frowned. How the hell had Vash gotten on the team? Had he known this? She paged through, and noticed the dates the information had hit the network. Apparently, Vash was a last-minute addition, if one believed what was in the computer.

A nagging sick feeling began in the pit of her stomach. Vash -- she remembered the woman, from the time she'd shown up for that archeological conference, and they'd been plunged into a fantasy of Q's. She'd sensed the annoyance in Jean-Luc, but right alongside had been the begrudging excitement of the adventure -- and attraction to the woman.

Nothing he'd indulge in presently. Deanna knew him better than that. He wouldn't risk his career and hers for the sake of their relationship and then go right back to brief liaisons. He loved her enough to allow her more intimacy than he'd ever granted anyone before; he would never invest so much of himself into a relationship, only to cheapen it with an affair. Besides, he knew Deanna would be able to tell if he cheated.

Vash would be an annoyance, along the same vein as Q -- though on one level Jean enjoyed the adventure, the disrespect for Jean's dignity and the lack of ethics that both Vash and Q had shown frustrated him. But then again, she had a brash boldness that Jean found attractive, in spite of her lack of ethics. That and her considerable good looks. . . .

Jean often felt an attraction to other women -- that was normal and expected. It followed that he likely found old flames even more attractive, since he'd also developed friendships and had in some cases considered more than a brief sexual liaison with the woman in question. Vash hadn't appeared to have been one of the more serious ones, but as Deanna recalled, he'd found her very attractive. If he were feeling the same emptiness she felt, he would be made more miserable by Vash's proximity. Relaxing would be impossible. What good did it do to send him away on a vacation she knew he would enjoy under normal circumstances, only to have him come home wound up tighter than he'd been when he left?

And what was Vash doing on the expedition anyway? Why was she a last minute addition to the group?

"Computer, display the known whereabouts of an archeologist named Vash for the last three years." Deanna watched the list flicker down the screen with growing concern. She turned it off and went to Data's quarters.

The door opened promptly. A high-pitched bark warned her, so she was able to catch the little black blur when it leaped up to greet her. She cradled the terrier in her arms and endured his attempts at licking her face.

"I am sorry, Deanna. I have been attempting to teach Toto not to jump on people." Data rose from his desk. He already wore his uniform. She wondered if he ever took it off, when not indulging in holodeck simulations with friends.

"It's all right. Data, I think the captain may be in trouble."

"Indeed." Data raised an eyebrow. "Given the captain's previous record for finding mayhem on shore leave, I would have guessed as much. He is also quite capable of finding his way out of trouble, however."

She stepped inside and let the door close. "Vash is on the team."

Data smiled knowingly. "I can understand your concern -- "

"It isn't that, Data. Transport records place her on the Neutral Zone for the past month, traveling up and down it. Which may not mean anything other than she's artifact-hunting in Romulan space, or trying to, but I find that suspicious." She put Toto on the floor and ignored his pawing at her legs for attention.

Data considered for a few seconds. "That isn't proof -- "

"If the captain's girlfriend got lonely and went looking for him, that would be understandable. If she took security because she knew he'd be upset that she'd wandered off through the void alone, that would be, too. He's on a mining colony, with no weapons, with only a small team of archeologists who are also unarmed. If I go spend the rest of his leave with the team and nothing happens, no big loss. The *Enterprise* will be still mapping the gaseous anomaly when we get back -- the absence of a few security officers and the counselor won't detract from that mission. Neither will the absence of a few phasers and tricorders."

Data took mere seconds to see the scope of her idea. "We will be needing all of the shuttles, but I believe Baby Bird would be more suited to this endeavor, in any case. . . ."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Jean-Luc straightened and wiped his sleeve across his forehead. Another layer of filth either way wouldn't matter; he was tired of the muddy sweat trickling down into his eyes.

"It would appear this building was made by an artistic people," Soldek said, breaking the hours of silence. He studied the long wall their efforts had exposed in the cliff side. Faint traces of color remained.

"If we worked on cleaning it for a while, perhaps the design would become clear." Jean-Luc held up a tricorder. "It appears to be a synthetic enamel composed of -- "

"Captain, may I ask a question that you might consider personal?"

"You may ask. I may choose not to answer."

Soldek stared at him with the unguarded scrutiny at which Vulcans were so apt. "You must have spent considerable time with Vulcans. I find it. . . refreshing."

Jean-Luc smiled and thought of Sarek, and Spock. "Your question?"

"You appear to have known Vash previous to the expedition. Yet she has only been in the service of Mr. Blumenthal for seven months. You have worked with her before?"

"In a manner of speaking. She's. . . an old acquaintance."

"I see. On what expedition did you meet her?"

Jean-Luc almost laughed. "We met on Risa, quite by accident. I wasn't on an expedition."

Soldek gazed at him soberly, then turned to the battered table of implements nearby, selected a canister of solution, and adjusted the nozzle. "The paint seems intact but faded. A light concentration. . . ." He turned slowly, raising an eyebrow.

Vash approached, smiling. "Can I talk to you for a few minutes, Jean-Luc?"

"We're -- "

"Busy. But it won't take a moment. You can take a break at least once a day, you know."

He glanced at Soldek and excused himself. He chose to head for camp, taking the path they'd been wearing across the canyon to the tents from the cliff. Above them the faint hum of wind over the force field moaned.

"What do you want, Vash?"

"Just wondering if you were awake enough to pick up where we left off. . . last night." She brushed up against him, sleeve to sleeve, with a synthetic scraping of coats.

"Awake, but not quite sure where you think we left off."

"I believe I was trying to pry from you some clue of how your life's been treating you, and whether there was some way of improving it. The war wasn't a walk in the park, after all." She studied him in a calculating way that reminded him, oddly enough, of Deanna.

Although perhaps it wasn't so odd -- the strangest things had been reminding him of her. Eating breakfast had been a chore, the rations they'd brought nothing like replicated food and the company deficient in ways they couldn't help. He missed the way Deanna touched him in passing while she moved about getting ready for the day, as he ate whatever she prepared while he'd dressed -- her silent presence nearby, the way her just-put-on perfume caught him in the face when she embraced him before he left for the bridge.

"Hello? Jean-Luc?"

"Sorry. Just thinking. . . ."

"Thought you were taking time away from work. Although, that didn't look like the kind of fondness you'd have for a ship." They reached the tents; he stopped in front of his and found the lock of hair in his coat pocket.

"I wasn't thinking of the ship."

"Well, good for you. The vacation must be working." She smiled; he almost took a step away from the way she did it. "You really are looking well. Haven't changed a bit."

Brow wrinkling, he eyed her. "You expected me to change the color of my hair, perhaps?"

"Wow, a joke. You actually made a joke. Can it be you've actually loosened up?" She laughed, and sauntered a step closer. "At least it tells me you haven't lost your sense of humor. It's always been one of the things I like best about you."

"You've not changed much, either. I'm surprised you came back from the Gamma Quadrant -- there must still be thousands of fascinating worlds to discover out there."

For once, her slyness dwindled, and a new emotion clouded her eyes -- sadness? Wistfulness? Hard to tell. "It got a little tedious after a while. Not much fun sharing the joy of discovery with an omnipotent being who's always seen something more interesting before."

"Q is generally a tedious person. In a dangerous, unpredictable sort of way. He can always be counted on to make life difficult somehow, though -- reminds me of someone else I know." He smiled fondly, thinking of the last argument he'd had with Deanna over something inconsequential. She'd picked a fight with him on purpose then proceeded to take off and throw her clothing at him, one item at a time, until he forgot whatever it was they'd fought about.

Vash, unfortunately, mistook the sentiment. "I could keep making it difficult, on a more consistent basis, you know."

He did take a step backward finally, and stood watching her, wary and dispassionate. The standoff lasted a few minutes. Vash shrugged and stuffed her hands in her pockets, imitating him. "I guess since hinting isn't getting me anywhere, I'll just resort to bluntness. I want you to think about joining me. We're two of a kind -- we could travel the galaxy together. We'd make a great team. The thing with Carl is fun, but he's just not. . . you. And it's not the same, I'm restricted to just the authorized digs with him. We could go back to the Gamma Quadrant, you know -- through the wormhole at Bajor."

Their eyes met, his mildly startled, hers enthusiastic. He was right -- she'd been hinting at it last night. Being an archeologist on the loose sounded appealing, to be sure, but given the circumstances. . . . "If certain things were different -- but I don't operate the way you do, Vash. I won't give up my career. There's too much to lose."

Whipping her hands out of her pockets, she grabbed the front of his jacket and kissed him. He took her by the shoulders, but the intensity of her kiss distracted him -- for a single floating moment he enjoyed the contact, familiar and passionate, that pulled him into a long-ago adventure on Risa and the search for the Tax Uhtat. Then his thoughts were on Deanna, on the ache and craving for her touch, and his chest burned hollow. He shoved Vash away roughly as he came back to himself.

"Don't," he gasped. "Don't touch me again."

"You can't tell me you didn't enjoy that."

"No. But I can tell you not to do it again." Yanking off his gloves, he stuffed them in his pocket and dropped to enter his tent.

He hesitated just inside, hands over his eyes, balancing on the balls of his feet. Vash's footsteps retreated rapidly; at least she had left him alone, for the moment.

This was an untenable situation. For the next two weeks he'd be confronted by her, and every look at her face reminded him of things he wished he could forget -- she hadn't lost her appeal. The thought of trying to explain even that single kiss to Deanna when he returned to the ship made his chest hurt. He sat on the cot and gripped the edge of it, trying to calm himself and breathe evenly. His body ached again. This had been a foolish thing to do. He should have left the dig to Gary and the others, and waited for transport instead, but it was too late now.

Footsteps approached. His head came up defiantly as the flap moved. Then his heart thudded to a complete stop at the sight of Deanna's face.

"I knew you were around here somewhere," she said, crawling inside. She joined him on the cot, hunched over because of the side of the tent. "How are you, Jean-Fish?"

"Dee -- you have no idea how happy I am to see you!"

"Sure I do. Almost as happy as I am to see you." They embraced, and she giggled, prodding the thick coat he wore. "All this padding. It's like hugging a big stuffed animal."

He poked her in return. "Yours is just as bad. Two days -- I've been in hell, between missing you and. . . . Oh, damn it." Ducking away from her, he hid his face behind a hand and grappled with guilt and fear.

"Jean, look at me. Stop it."

Her eyes held solemn awareness and understanding, and it only made it worse. "Vash. . . I didn't know she would be here. She tried to convince me to join her but -- "

"Jean." Deanna's fingers on his face twisted the despair into relief. "You don't have to panic. Her name showed up on the computer after you left. I know how you feel, Jean, and I don't fault you for it -- she's always appealed to your more adventurous side, and she's not unattractive, I suppose. But I have faith in you -- I'm not here out of suspicion. I couldn't let her make you suffer. I knew she would try to get under your skin. What woman could resist you, after all?" She undid the fasteners on his coat one by one, kneeling on the ground in front of him, and did the same to her coat. Pressing her body to his, she kissed him gently, arms going around his neck.

"It's getting hot in here," he whispered against her lips. His arms around her, he tried not to crush her too hard against his chest. "I'm so sorry -- I shouldn't have left you behind, it hurts to miss you -- I guess that means I've been domesticated, doesn't it?"

"Only as much as I have. Other than Vash, are you enjoying the dig?"

"Amazingly, when I can manage to immerse myself in the work, it's been fascinating. I've been talking to Soldek -- the man is brilliant, when you can get him to open up about some of his work. The nights are hardest -- I had to throw her out last night, and she keeps following me around. How did you find me?" he murmured into her hair. She felt good in his arms, so good he wanted to stay there holding her and forget the rest of them existed.

"Finding the only idiots out in this wasteland other than the miners wasn't too hard. Getting here was as easy as convincing Data I could fly Baby Bird and that a distracted counselor was next to useless."

He chuckled at the nickname for the captain's gig. Batris had coined the name after someone had commented the vessel reminded them of an egg nestled in the underbelly of the ship, hatching when necessary. "You came all the way out here just to see me?"

"And stay with you." She pulled back and held his face in her hands. "You can't tell me there's no sexual tension between you and your elephant. You're on leave, you're going to enjoy it, and I'm going to attempt figuring out what you find so fascinating about musty old artifacts. If that's what it takes to get the captain safely through his vacation, then that's what a ship's counselor has to do. Even if I might as well kiss a mudball."

"You didn't have to do this. I know you don't like this sort of thing. And I do have self control, Deebird. She really can't compete."

"Jean, don't lie to me." She bumped his nose with hers, her dark eyes somewhat amused. "I've met a few elephants of yours, and I know well enough which ones could get your balls in a uproar with minimal effort. She's probably the worst of the lot, so far as basic attraction goes. While I know you wouldn't follow through, you'd be miserable on this dirt clod of a planet in such close proximity to her. Besides, the bed's too big and empty without you in it." Glancing down at the cot, she smiled whimsically. "I guess that won't be an issue here. Narrow thing, isn't it?"

"You really want to stay here, instead of staying in the gig?"

"Stop trying to get rid of me, or I really will think you prefer her company." Her tone lacked any venom; she tugged on the front of his shirt and kissed his cheek. "Jean-Fish is a mud-puppy, this time. You taste like dirt."

Jean-Luc sighed, brushing her cheek with his knuckle. "If we don't get out of this tent, I'll have you stripped down and screaming like a banshee, and that would make the rest of them jealous."

She sniffed and fastened his coat from the top down. "As if you would care. Making other men jealous is what men with arm ornaments love to do."

"A psychologist's assessment?"

"A woman's wisdom. We don't put up with ridiculous clothing for our own gratification, you know. We wear it to attract the man, then to make him look good. Or to make him jealous when other men ogle, to get his attention back where it belongs."

He leaned close to get a whiff of her perfume. She'd found it. "Your gift came in handy -- I missed you, did I say that?"

"Are you going to be able to tell me anything about the dig, or has my presence distracted you that thoroughly?" She laughed at him silently, the familiar and more than welcome sensation echoing between them.

"What dig?"

"Jean. The dig. Dirt, mud, rocks, old things people left behind -- you know, why you're camping in the middle of a mining pit?"

"But I missed you."

"You can convince me of it later, after you've introduced me around and shown off those big dirty hand prints you're putting on my butt. You know these stupid uniforms show every smudge."

He laughed, following her out of the tent. "I could try to clean them off -- "

"No, thank you, you're just trying to find a reason to grope. The coat's long enough to cover them, and you'd only make it worse."

"Dee," he said, catching her hand as they stood up. She hesitated and looked at him curiously. "Thank you, for understanding. I needed you."

She nodded, giving him the smile she saved for private moments. "You've understood more than I have any right to expect you to, when it comes to elephants. Yours have proven to be less complicated to handle than mine. I wanted to be here for you, Jean."

"Ma cher." His fingers left a dirty smudge along her jaw. "I shouldn't look a gift Betazoid in the mouth, I suppose."

"Especially after you've dragged muddy fingers across her face. By the time we're through here, I'm going to be one bedraggled and grimy bird. Show me your archeological wonders, Jean Poisson."

They headed for the wall, and as they approached, Soldek turned from spraying the painted surface for an introduction. As usual, he showed no real reaction, simply accepted Deanna's presence without curiosity and didn't appear to be surprised by the fact that Jean-Luc introduced her as an officer and held her hand. The Vulcan ran out of solution and trekked down the length of the cliff to the others for more.

"So what is it?" Deanna asked, looking at a zigzag in green on a blue background.

"A building, apparently." He explained the results of scans they'd taken and trailed off as he got deeper in details. "Are you really interested in this?"

"If I can be interested in Data's instruction on how to perform basic repair of communications equipment, I can be interested in filthy old buildings." She eyed him mischievously. "Besides, you're cute when you're caught up in archeology."

"Cute," he echoed, trying not to laugh. "Damn you, Deebird, if you were anyone else -- "

"Spank me later. There's an elephant rampaging our way. Quite a furious tusker, at that." She twined her fingers in his and turned her body toward him, though she watched Vash's approach. Her calm solemnity helped him maintain his own as he turned to follow her gaze.

Vash stopped short and stared at Deanna, then gave a wily smile. "Well -- as I recall, you're the counselor. What brings you all the way out here? Johnny said the *Enterprise* was off cataloging some anomaly somewhere else in the galaxy. Aren't you supposed to be busily helping crew recover from the strain of categorizing molecular structures?"

"Part of my duty is to be certain the captain receives adequate rest and relaxation on shore leave, to facilitate his mental fitness and optimum performance while on duty." Deanna sounded very much the counselor, cool and professional, even though she flexed her fingers and tightened her grip on his hand.

"Oh, really? Interesting. That includes hand-holding therapy?"

Deanna's unshakable smile only got bigger, slightly. "A dedicated counselor will go to great lengths for her patient."

After a tense, calculating moment, in which each of them appraised the other unwaveringly, Vash whirled and sauntered back to the others.

Jean-Luc grinned. "You know, I think this is turning out to be a fun outing after all."

"You think so?" Deanna put a hand up the back of his coat, and pinched him, hard. "Next month, you're taking me to the Parallax Colony on Shiralea, and we're leaving the coats and picks behind, along with most of our clothing. They have the sort of mud there that I can truly appreciate, and since you seem to enjoy dirt you should feel right at home bathing in it."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Field rations with Jean-Luc were preferable to replicated food alone, Deanna supposed, glancing at the rest of the faces in the circle. Carl Blumenthal had professional respect for Vash that overrode anything else; he regarded her with the air of a man who had acknowledged the unapproachability of a beautiful woman he knew. Gary Conklin didn't share that -- with Deanna's role made clear by her taking her things into Jean-Luc's tent, Gary had shifted new attention to Vash. Soldek viewed the interaction between the humans as amusing -- not something he expressed outwardly, and only barely inwardly. Zennig, the silent Dopterian, was as much an enigma as any of his species were to Betazoids.

Vash remained highly annoyed by several things, especially Deanna, which was satisfying as a form of vengeance for the way she'd forced herself on Jean-Luc earlier. Even if there were nothing to Deanna's theory of a connection between Vash and the Romulans, the trip had been worth it. Jean's mood had lifted the instant he'd seen her.

He'd missed her acutely, she could tell. So could the others, from the way he looked at her often, from the heart-tugging smiles he couldn't hide and the way he kept touching her shoulder or back or arm in passing. With no ship and no crew around, he wasn't shy about it, either. And having their relationship out in the open this way had Blumenthal and Conklin stifling the brief attraction to her they'd felt upon initial introductions. It may not be Risa, but this dusty pockmark on the blighted face of Zanzibar was looking better all the time.

She set aside her empty plate and pulled a cleaning cloth from one of the voluminous pockets of her coat to wipe her face, her fingers touching the phaser she kept hidden under the other objects she'd put in on top of it. She'd set it on stun, narrow beam, and made sure the safety was engaged. All that target practice on the holodeck under deLio's tutelage wouldn't go to waste, if anything came up.

"So how long have you served under the captain, Commander?" Blumenthal asked, the amused lilt in his voice implying more than the service of an officer.

"I've been aboard the *Enterprise* for almost thirteen years," she said, refusing to rise to the bait. "It's been a fascinating journey. I never thought that I'd be in command of a starship, or fly one, or go undercover as part of covert operations. I've been told I make a halfway decent member of the Tal-Shiar."

She noted the emotional jolt from Vash, which had been her aim -- see if there might be a reaction to the casual insertion of a reference to Romulans. Still, that by itself wasn't enough. It could've just been more ire at her for more personal reasons.

"I wasn't aware that counselors could command a starship," Gary said.

"If they're also officers, it's possible." Jean-Luc smiled proudly at her and passed his canteen to her.

"Don't start, Jean. I really don't need more teasing about my abysmal piloting skills or my 'unique' battle tactics." The upside-down way of hinting at the fact that she'd piloted and employed battle tactics did more toward impressing them than a direct admission would have. Especially since her matter-of-factness could be mistaken for humility.

"Since when do counselors have an interest in archeology?" Vash asked, eyeing Jean-Luc. She was up to something. Luckily, Vash still didn't seem to fully realize the ramifications of trying to put one over on a Betazoid. Either that or she was thinking Deanna was a telepath, and wasn't aware that being an empath meant something quite different.

"Only insomuch as we're interested in archeologists." Deanna passed the canteen back to Jean-Luc, catching a mixture of pleasure and pleading -- he didn't want her to push things too far. Probably because of Conklin and the others, for whom he held a great deal of respect.

Gary's smirking grin and Blumenthal's laughter didn't make Vash happy. "Isn't fraternizing against the rules or something?" she exclaimed.

"No. Just some of the less pleasing ramifications of it, which aren't a concern." Deanna smiled in her practiced innocuous way. "So how was the Gamma Quadrant? I wasn't aware you'd finally come back."

Vash stared, probably trying to figure out how she knew where she'd been, but that only took a moment -- her eyes shifted to Jean-Luc and a mixture of regret and anger flickered briefly. Regret. Yes, she would feel that, but Jean-Luc wasn't the sort of man you could expect to wait around forever.

"The adventure of a lifetime," Vash exclaimed enthusiastically. Her usual canny smile broadened further yet. "You wouldn't believe the things I've seen. Indescribable -- some of the planets I visited had ancient remains of civilizations you couldn't begin to imagine." And then she began to describe some of them, focused on Jean-Luc, with Blumenthal and Conklin obliviously asking questions -- some of it was interesting to Deanna as well, but not the aspects Vash discussed. Vash was most interested in things people left behind, not the people themselves.

But as she listened half-heartedly, Deanna realized that Vash was losing herself in the account and forgetting her original goal. The intention had been to capture Jean-Luc's attention and keep it, probably to prove she could provide the adventure he craved. It was an attractive offer, no doubt; lately Starfleet had only offered diplomatic missions and tours of the Neutral Zone in the ongoing standoff with the Romulans. Jean-Luc loved exploration and the thrill of the unknown, not battles and posturing at each other across sectors of open space. As good as he was at it, as challenging as the strategy could be for him, he disliked interstellar warfare and the killing and violence it caused. Going with Vash would provide the excitement without the battles.

For a moment Deanna's heart hovered suspended between beats at the possibility of it -- then she looked at his face. Enraptured by something Vash was saying, he didn't notice the attention immediately; the light in his eyes and the relaxed, wondering expression were precisely what Deanna had wanted, the complete distraction from the worries of commanding a ship and patrols fraught with the anticipation of confronting a warbird at any moment. She watched and loved him like this, enraptured by the stories of exploring faraway places no human had ever been, like she imagined he must have been as a boy dreaming of being a captain. When he finally glanced at her, the fascination in his eyes turned to a softer kind of happiness, turning her heart inside out, upside down and flying. No competition, he'd said, and obviously he'd meant it.

A spark of anger distracted her. She reached for the coffee pot and filled her cup, glancing across the circle at Vash, who had been the source of the emotion. She still spoke, about a civilization that had inexplicably left behind nothing but several square kilometers of posts spaced precisely four meters apart, but her eyes were too obviously on Conklin, as if she were determined not to look at Jean-Luc. She applied herself with fervor and soon had Conklin leaning forward eagerly, hanging on her words -- her flirtatious behavior had no real emotional impact on Jean-Luc, Deanna noticed. She felt spark of pity. Vash truly didn't understand what she was missing, and had no chance of attaining it. She led a lonely existence traveling the stars alone. Deanna thought about the times she'd wished the rest of the crew would go away for a while and give them uninterrupted privacy, and empathized with the archeologist.

Without bothering to look, Deanna held out her hand; Jean took it, and she sensed the depth of the contentment it gave him. Sipping bitter black coffee too obviously made the male way -- handful of grounds, whatever amount of water looked good -- she tuned in to the conversation at hand again.

Vash described an encounter with a race in the Gamma Quadrant. Finally, something about actual people. "They were short but humanoid -- like dwarves. They even had the wrinkled faces and something that looked like a beard, only it was actually just a pointed chin. They made the most incredible sculptures -- tall white ones, that looked like they'd been poured instead of sculpted. I tried to barter with them for one but they wouldn't speak. They got frustrated with me, though -- they acted like I should know something I didn't. The main dwarf kept pointing at me and the sculpture and then at other dwarves. Never did figure it out."

"Telepathic?" Gary asked, giving her a smile that didn't match the conversation. Vash matched it and held out her cup, which he refilled eagerly.

"I don't think so. I tried thinking at them, best I could anyway, but you know, they didn't start acting up until I got frustrated with them."

"Empaths," Deanna said. "You could have bartered with them using emotion. They could have sensed approval and disapproval."

Vash stared at her as if she'd sprouted horns and waved a pitchfork. "What?"

"You haven't met many empaths, have you? They reacted to your emotion. I'm sure you probably didn't show it in a way they could see -- they wouldn't know your body language well enough to guess what you felt."

"Leave it to a space shrink to figure that out," Vash exclaimed, amusement that managed not to sound forced in her voice and slight begrudging admiration layered beneath irritation.

"I've been in a few first contact situations. Extrapolating from known data isn't just an archeological technique. Plus, I know more than a little about being an empath first hand."

"You are not a telepath?" Soldek asked.

"No. I'm only half Betazoid. Which can be both blessing and curse. I envy Vulcans, sometimes -- you have such excellent control. It must be nice to not be bombarded with other people's emotions."

"Have you tried to learn Vulcan techniques? It may help you in maintaining shields."

Startled, she opened her mouth to reply, but her communicator interrupted. Pulling the right flap of her coat collar down, she tapped the comm badge clinging on the inside of it. "Troi here."

"Commander, you neglected to check in."

"I'm sorry, deLio, I was so engrossed in studying a big painted wall and shoveling dirt that I forgot. Everything all right up there?"

"I am moving into a polar orbit to avoid some upper atmosphere turbulence and the flight paths of several freighters. I do not trust the Pakleds to ignore *Calypso,* and we are too small to adequately defend ourselves." The security chief paused. "Is the captain enjoying his leave?"

"Happy as a pig in mud, deLio. Did you fix the console?"

"Yes, you did minimal damage to it. I only had to replace the interface panel, the molding along the -- "

"Thank you, deLio, good night. Talk to you in the morning."

"Good night, Commander. deLio out."

Jean-Luc stared at her incredulously. "You broke my gig?"

"Just a console. It wasn't my fault."

"It wasn't your fault? I'm supposed to believe that it's entirely coincidence that everything you drive crashes or falls apart?"

Deanna knew he was enjoying teasing her, and that the audience appreciated it as well. Except Vash, who disliked every display of affection he'd shown her so far. "If Will hadn't put me at the helm, you'd still be driving around in a Galaxy class. You should appreciate that I managed to get you an upgrade. Even if they did make your bridge too small, it's a much bigger vessel, and everyone knows that size really *does* matter."

Conklin and Blumenthal howled with laughter at that. Men always found that sort of joke funny, regardless of how many times they heard it. So did she, in certain instances, after she'd spent few hours with the counselors of Bellamy's and Glendenning's ships on Rigel. Tina Rodriguez had regaled them on her theory of corresponding penis size and ship type. Jean-Luc put a hand to his forehead and laughed as well, grinning at her. She'd told him about Tina's theory, of course, pointing out how obviously correct it must be, just to hear him swear at her.

They spent another hour in the slowly-falling dusk of Zanzibar, talking and watching Vash play her game with Conklin. Zennig said little and went to his tent early. Deanna could tell Jean-Luc was getting tired -- she felt bone-weary too, after all the moving of dirt and listening to the excited exchanges of archeologists intensely excited over finding the door to the building below ground level. The top few inches had come into view late in the afternoon.

When she bade them good night and headed for the tents, curiosity flooded from Conklin and Blumenthal, then amusement when Jean-Luc got up to follow her a few moments later.

The tent was far too small for anyone's comfort. She settled carefully on the cot, pulled off boots and then socks, shivering at the cold that gripped her toes but hating the thought of sleeping with the thick wooly material on her feet. The coat was next, her pips going in the pocket, along with the communicator. She checked the phaser's location again and turned the coat with that pocket ready to hand, placing it beneath the cot where she could reach it.

Jean-Luc arrived next and quietly went about his own preparations, not looking at her -- quite a feat in the narrow space. She went about teeth-cleaning and hair-brushing, and watched him out of the corner of her eye. Sitting next to her, he divested himself of outer layers of clothing, then his shirt, then paused, gooseflesh forming on his arms and chest at the cold though the interior was warming slightly due to their combined body heat and the insulating properties of the tent.

"If you don't take the rest off, I will," she murmured, tugging at his waistband.

"There's a Vulcan two tents that way, Conklin's next door, and there's a Dopterian on the other side."

"And an elephant several tents down from here? Don't worry about it."

"Gary's probably listening, on purpose."

"He won't hear a thing."

They continued the argument sotto voce, though she knew he'd give in eagerly; the banter only heightened the sexual tension he'd been exuding all day. The sleeping bag didn't allow for much freedom of movement, but she wouldn't need much. By the time they settled in, darkness had fallen and the inside of the tent was pitch black. A quick grope beneath the cot reaffirmed the location of her coat pocket. Then she settled on Jean's chest, propped up on her elbows, his hands splayed against her rib cage.

He radiated curiosity and desire, the anxiety of knowing only a few layers of fabric stood between them and public display only making it more intense. Danger was a drug to Starfleet captains, but this was an unusual variety for Jean-Luc to subject himself to. She took stock of the camp; with so few people around, she could easily enumerate them, even identify them by species. Rustling noises not far away meant Conklin had begun to settle in for the night. Beyond him, she could sense the quiet presence of a Vulcan meditating. On the other side, just the flicker of the Dopterian. Beyond, Blumenthal, alert and listening, intensely curious. And Vash, familiar as an individual because Deanna had made a point of making it so, slowly walking around outside.

Deanna shifted left, weight on her knee, then right on her other knee, noting the quiet creak of the cot. Raising herself slightly, she slid her abdomen up the length of his erection and felt her way down on it, pressing her mouth over his to stifle his gasp at the pleasure of the sensation.

He wasn't used to being held down this way. She didn't let him move, kept his arms pinned and hooked her feet over his ankles, silencing his mouth with hers when necessary. Her hips and her controlled contractions did all the work, much slower than he wanted them to, and when her own desire peaked she changed her angle of approach slightly and kept her hand over his lips. His hands slid to her thighs, then her hips, and he took one of her fingers into his mouth and sucked.

She sat on him to hold him down when he came, managing to allow only a single creak of the cot, and smiled -- now that the passion slowly ebbed into satisfaction, her sense of the others around them cleared. Vash stood close by, listening, and the other two humans listened as well. Soldek was asleep.

Jean let go of her finger and she felt his lips move under her hand into a smile. They slowly moved into more comfortable positions, spooning tightly together on the narrow cot, with barely a creak of the cot and minimal rustling of the sleeping bag, neither of them touching the sides of the tent. Deanna waited a few minutes; Jean was listening, curious in his own way as the others.

"If you would all stop feeling so curious, I might be able to sleep," she exclaimed, feigning exasperation.

Quiet laughter from both sides, and some swearing from Conklin. Jean stifled his own laughter into the back of her neck. From close by, a female voice muttered, "Bitch," and then soft footfalls retreated.

"Dee," Jean breathed.

{What?}

{I love you, inside out.}

Deanna smiled, relaxing into the bliss of his presence against her back and the pressure of his arms around her. {Cher poisson, je vous aime aussi.}

She felt him slip into slumber, and listened for a while until she sensed Vash had also fallen asleep. The communicator in her coat chirped quietly, muted by the layers of fabric -- deLio's signal, as prearranged, letting her know the final phase of their preparations had been completed. The transporter inhibitors around the dome were activated, deLio and the other security officers would be standing watches and minding the sensors, and all was quiet.

Jean-Luc didn't have to know about any of it, if nothing happened. She felt mildly guilty about not saying anything but it was for his own good. He could enjoy his digging in unsuspecting serenity, and the elaborate set of code words she'd worked out with deLio would keep it that way. Vash was asleep, without hinting at furtive behavior beforehand. Maybe this would come to nothing. Maybe the fact that Jean couldn't have known she would be on the team until he arrived meant nothing.

Still, before drifting off to sleep herself, Deanna slipped her arm out of the sleeping bag and touched the pocket of her coat, just one more time.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Jean-Luc endured Conklin's good-natured teasing, begrudgingly admitting that Deanna had been right -- he really did enjoy the fact that he had a desirable woman the other men couldn't touch.

"I ought to sneak a microphone into the tent tonight," Gary said, hefting another bucket of dirt out of the hole. Jean-Luc handed it to Zennig, who tossed the contents on the growing pile and passed the bucket back. They'd decided to excavate the doorway entirely by hand, so the machinery wouldn't damage anything.

"Won't do any good." Jean-Luc dropped the bucket into the hole and took the next full one.

"Like we're going to believe nothing happened," Blumenthal scoffed from where he crouched watching Conklin dig. He started shoveling again, working on a ramp even as Gary dug vertically. "Grinning fools hide nothing. Would've thought breakfast was a banquet, happy as you were this morning. Say -- where is she?"

Jean-Luc glanced around. Soldek and Vash still worked on uncovering the wall, making their way to the end of it to reveal the full length of the painted pattern, but Deanna was nowhere in sight.

"Not working on her tan," Gary commented, lifting another bucket of dirt with a huff. "Maybe she's reading, or resting up for the next round. She didn't seem interested in the dig, as polite as she was yesterday."

"She's not," Jean-Luc said.

Gary stopped and exchanged glances with Blumenthal. Both men grinned impishly. "Sex," they said simultaneously.

"But completely silent sex," Gary added. "In a tent, on a cot barely big enough for one person. Hey -- you didn't transport up to that ship of yours, did you?"

"As if that would be any more private than a tent with deLio aboard," Jean-Luc said. He glanced around the crater and saw her at last, coming around the machinery from the sad excuse of a bathroom facility. "There she is."

She glanced around and started across the sloping crater floor toward him, smiling across the distance at him. Bundled into her coat, she looked like an odd sort of flower with her curly hair sticking out over her collar. She wasn't entirely comfortable here, but she was coping admirably. Her movements were as free and swinging as usual, though she seemed to be putting an extra swing into her walk as if showing off. Which she probably was, come to think of it. She'd been doing that all morning, as if subtly countering Vash's little campaign last night. Or maybe not -- when she did something like that, a flirtatious posture or arch remark, she always smiled directly at Jean-Luc, making the others part of the scenery. Confident and unaffected by the glares Vash darted her way, and refusing to participate in banter.

Gary and Carl stared at her; Zennig merely waited for the next bucket of dirt to be passed to him. "How'd an old guy like you manage to land a catch like her?" Carl asked.

"It wasn't exactly a catch. Conquests are a thing of the past for me. Are you going to dig, or drool?" Jean-Luc tapped his toe against the back of Gary's head. He recovered and heaved another bucket out of the pit.

Deanna pulled on gloves as she topped the slope and looked down into the hole. "Are we in yet, or do we have more digging to do?"

"Just a few meters deeper," Carl said. "You know, I never would have pictured someone like you in this setting. If you hadn't shown up on your own, I'd have accused Jean-Luc of being cruel."

She met Jean-Luc's eyes briefly; he saw the flicker of annoyance before she looked at Blumenthal with apparent nonchalance on the verge of boredom. "Oh, I've been through worse for him, for completely professional reasons. Mud and hard labor aren't unfamiliar to me. Plus I've decided to do a paper on the personality aberrations of archeologists. It would take an obsessive disorder to bring people out in this place to dig for a few artifacts."

"Someone's got to do it, so people can walk through museums and look at them," Gary said. "Want to take a turn in the pit with me? Can't guarantee I'd get much digging done, but I'd sure enjoy it."

It was hard to be annoyed by Gary's overdone comic flirting, so obviously meant as a joke. Deanna glanced at Jean-Luc slyly, then surprised Conklin by sliding down the steep incline and jumping the rest of the way in. Jean-Luc tossed a spade to her and lowered another bucket, and she set to with surprising vigor.

They dug for a while, occasionally striking shovels with a clang or bumping shoulders. Gary climbed out for a rest after another half hour of steady work and light banter with Deanna. Jean-Luc slid down to take his place. After a while, Carl began to laugh at something, interrupting what had been a serious conversation with Gary about one of the digs they'd both been on several years before. "Look, Gary. Watch this."

"What's so funny?" Jean-Luc exclaimed, continuing to dig since it wasn't likely he'd be able to see whatever it was, anyway.

"How are you doing that, Jean-Luc?" Gary asked.

"Doing what?" He turned with a spade full of dirt as Deanna turned from emptying hers into a bucket, paid more attention to the movements than he had been, and realized that as they worked side by side, their efforts seemed to have fallen into a coordinated pattern, his shovel passing centimeters from hers when they crossed paths. They were working in slow, even increments back and forth, each shovelful taken from beside the last even though they dug from different angles and in a tight space.

He glanced at Deanna, eyebrow raised, and she didn't even look up from what she was doing. {We work well together, hajira.}

{We do everything well together, cygne. Elephant or no, I'm enjoying this much more than I would have.} Glancing up at Gary, Jean-Luc shrugged and hefted a full bucket up to him.

She sunk the spade into the reddish dirt yet one more time, and a clunking noise resulted. "What's that?"

Jean-Luc kneeled, and so did she -- her hair brushed his head, tickling, almost making him laugh. He pulled at the dirt with his hand and uncovered something smooth and dark green, so far as he could tell in the dimness. "Got a light, Gary?"

"Heads up."

Deanna caught it and turned it on. The beam fell on a rounded, shining surface. "We finally found something?"

"What did you think we were trying to do, cygne? Looks almost like a helmet, from the curve of it."

"Awww, how cute -- he actually gave her a nickname," Carl said. "What's a cygne?"

"It's a creature from Demolia Six, that has four-inch fangs and green scales," Deanna deadpanned as she scraped gently at the hard soil around the artifact. "It has a long neck with big black eyes. It's actually pronounced zygneth, but he's French -- he slurs things sometimes. The zygneth lies in wait under the reeds and leaps out whenever prey walks by. I shot one, once upon a time."

Jean-Luc sniffed, trying not to laugh, and said, "Careful how you dig at that. Let's get something less likely to damage it than a shovel, Gary."

They eventually extracted the item, which looked more like a green fishbowl once freed of clinging hard-packed dirt. Climbing out of the pit, they all stood around the table where the finer tools were placed. Soldek and Vash came to watch as Gary and Jean-Luc worked at gently removing the dirt from the inside of it.

"So who got the first find?" Vash asked.

"Deanna did," Gary said. "Though it could be considered a joint effort, I guess."

Jean-Luc turned the rounded dome upside down and let the dirt pour out. "This wasn't sitting on the ground in front of the door, judging from the height relative to it," he said. "Possibly a later addition to the site."

"Or it was caught in a dust storm and rolled into place as the door was buried," Vash said.

"Or it's a lamp shade," Deanna said.

Carl and Gary looked askance at her. "A lamp shade?" Carl exclaimed.

Deanna shrugged. "People put light posts outside doors, don't they? It was off to one side a little, and about a meter out. And it looks a bit translucent without all the dirt in it."

"This looks like an older style light bulb to me -- or what's left of one," Jean-Luc said, poking through the dirt and producing a few wires and a shard of something translucent. "Are you sure you're not interested in archeology, Dee?"

"It's just a light fixture. Big deal." She turned away, walked to the edge of the pit, and skidded down into it again.

"She's definitely not archeologist material," Gary said. "But that's not what you keep her around for, is it?"

"I'm not sure why I keep her around, actually. Must be masochistic tendencies. She snores, in case you hadn't noticed." Jean-Luc peered into the near-globe and handed it to Gary.

The whang of a shovel striking something else echoed up from the pit. "Found the light pole, I guess," Deanna called.

"Dammit, stop trying to destroy things! I told you -- "

"Don't get your underwear in a bunch, Jean. I was kidding. It's a rock. But there is a pole here, too, and it's not really -- wait a minute, there's a -- "

Jean-Luc hurried over and jumped down as a scraping, grinding noise began and the wall trembled. The door opened, sliding upward into the wall, and the remaining meter of soil cascaded through it, taking Deanna with it in a cloud of dust. Jean-Luc's feet slid out from under him and he almost fell on top of her into the darkness of the building's interior.

"Lights, Gary!" The shout echoed around them in the stale air. "Dee?"

She coughed and grabbed blindly, catching one of his arms. Struggling out of the fall of dirt, they held on to each other and found their feet. The interior was black as a tomb, but light came up around them slowly -- a greenish, dirty glow from long narrow strips set into the floor. Jean-Luc smiled; Deanna shook her head, making a face, reminding him of a cat who'd just gotten dunked in water then been subjected to something that tasted bad. Head to toe filth -- she'd be going for a sonic shower, soon. Then he noticed how she cradled her left arm.

"You're hurt?" he asked, as the others dropped into the hole and slid down to join them, wearing wrist lights and bringing equipment. Zennig scanned with a tricorder, as did Carl. Gary joined Jean-Luc in concern for Deanna, gesturing at her arm questioningly. She gave them a wavering smile, eyes appearing larger than usual in the dimness.

"I think I sprained it grabbing for the side of the door. Falling into pits and tripping security devices aren't my favorite pastimes -- and I was trying not to spoil anything before you vulky types got to look at it."

"Never been accused of being vulky before," Jean-Luc said lightly. "Let's go get a first aid kit and fix that wrist." Ignoring the startled looks from the others, he helped her up the slope, which seemed to have stabilized somewhat, then up the steep ramp Carl had been working on. The post, now mostly revealed, appeared to have a sensor eye mounted on it, along with a row of buttons.

"You don't have to come with me, Jean, I know how curious and eager you've been to get inside," she said, hesitating at the top of the ramp. "I can manage."

Jean-Luc led her to the table by the elbow, gently. "I have my priorities. You won't let me coddle you on away missions, so indulge me on vacation, all right?"

"It's almost worth being buried alive to hear you say things like that." A telltale catch in her voice -- was that pain, or sentimentality?

He opened the kit, took out the tricorder, and frowned. "Dee, you've broken bones. Nothing the regenerator won't handle, they're fractures -- you've gotten too good at not showing pain." He linked the less-capable regenerator to the tricorder for finer control and trained it on the damage. When he finished and looked up at her face, he did a double-take. "You're sure you're all right?" She looked completely unlike herself, in head to toe filth.

"Fine." Since she used her firm officer's tone of voice, he couldn't argue --which was what she thought, anyway. She brushed at her hands and shook dirt out of her sleeves, and stamped dirt out of her pants. "Let's go see what's going on inside. Can't let the others find all the really interesting things, can we?"

"How am I supposed to relax if there's something bothering you?"

"I'm just a little tired. Vash is angry at me. She doesn't like my being here, and she hates that I'm trying to participate."

"She wants me to leave Starfleet and go adventuring with her." Jean-Luc braced himself for the look she gave him, only it wasn't what he expected -- she studied him solemnly, then smiled, looking down at her hand as she flexed her fingers and twisted her wrist experimentally.

"She doesn't know you very well, does she?"

"Not nearly well enough, cheri. There's only one person who knows me inside and out, with whom I intend to adventure for a long time to come, and Vash falls short in too many aspects to have any hope of replacing her."

Deanna took his hand and pulled him toward the hole. "Inside out," she whispered.

"And then some," he murmured as they slid carefully down to rejoin the group.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Deanna studied her surroundings diffidently, paying more attention to Jean-Luc than what she saw. He slowly immersed himself in his fascination for the project at hand, even falling into conversation with Vash about some small item she'd found in a room.

The building appeared to be empty as her stomach. The rooms lacked even furniture, most of the time. A few tables here and there were enough to spark animated debates about comparisons to similar designs made by various species. Archeology appeared to be the science of extrapolating from the smallest possible details and creating civilizations -- a little like paleontology, wherein a single bone could result in a reconstruction of an entire beast. The mystery was what drew Jean-Luc into it; he loved puzzles, especially ones he couldn't decipher right away.

Deanna wandered into another room, looking around carefully for any surprises that might prove unpleasant. It never paid to relax on alien soil. The walls were the same uniform greenish-yellow, with a single pale green light strip around the perimeter of the floor. No furniture to speak of, except a low benchlike protrusion in one corner. Like a few other rooms, there was a long panel of geometric patterns along the wall directly opposite the door, with four green zigzags paralleling one another two meters apart, and staggered rows of red triangles alternating with purple ones filling the blackness between the zigzags. She held up her wrist light and studied the patterns for something different than the ones she'd seen before. The light seemed to sink into the paneling rather than bounce off, as she expected it to do; the surface reminded her of the LCARS terminals on the *Enterprise* save for that one detail.

If this were an away mission, she'd probably be there with Data instead of Jean-Luc. She could almost hear the android's suggestions in her head. Scan it, try again on the off chance something had been missed, then test the surface. They'd already scanned the panels in other rooms, but she used the tricorder again anyway, with the same results. It was cool to the touch; her fingertip seemed to float above it, as if a force field kept her from actually making contact.

On a whim, she ran her finger along the zigzag over the triangles, then reached the end and started back. She traced the length of the panel to the other end. As her finger reached the far end, the top row of red triangles lit up.

What a way to turn on a panel! The others had tried pushing the triangles. Though it might have been any smaller segment of the pattern that had done it -- hiding it in a longer pattern would make sense, if someone intended to keep the method of activation a secret.

Tempted to experiment further herself and find something really notable, like a way to access a computer, she allowed herself one more thing -- she ran her finger along the third zigzag, below the last one she'd traced. Two more rows of triangles lit. Within the triangles were characters that seemed familiar somehow.

"Jean!" she shouted. All distant conversation that had been echoing through the halls stilled, and footsteps raced her direction. Gary, the first one through the door, swore when he saw the lit rows of triangles.

Deanna scanned again with her tricorder. She hadn't picked up power traces before, but there they were. Jean came up beside her, smiling, his eyes traveling up and down the board. "These look. . . Vulcan. But not quite."

"Romulan, but with differences," Deanna said, walking slowly down the panels looking for ones she recognized. "There." At her touch, the panel changed. Instead of rows, triangles lit up in a specific pattern. "If I read it right, this is the control set for the power source. This isn't Romulan space -- maybe this was one of the places the Rihannsu stopped on their exodus from T'Khasi. A colony, or an outpost."

"You know Romulan."

Deanna looked at Soldek and tucked her hands in her pockets, making the gesture as natural as she could. "Some. Not all. I'm good with languages, and I did spend some time aboard a warbird." She met Jean-Luc's gaze; he seemed a little surprised. Whether it was at her ability to read a few Rihannsu characters or at the odd amount of amazement in Soldek's comment, she wasn't certain.

"Then you were not entirely joking when you mentioned the Tal-Shiar. That must mean you were once a covert agent."

Deanna turned around and studied the faces of the others, trying to include Vash and Conklin in her glance at Soldek to avoid the man's awareness of her suspicion. "Once. It's been a few years. Do you know Toreth?"

"She was -- " Soldek stopped, mouth open, stricken by how easily she'd caught him off guard. A Vulcan archeologist wouldn't have known the name of a Romulan commander. Nor would a Vulcan have suggested to her that she learn Vulcan mind disciplines -- he'd learned all about Soldek's accomplishments and the facts of his life, but the agent hadn't mastered the nuances of Vulcan behavior.

It was one of those instants that seemed to last much longer than a second or two. Deanna sensed the intent, the shock and then the gathering of grim resolve, before the man moved -- she shot through the pocket of her coat, the smell of burning synthetics overlaying the smell of dust. The insulated material wasn't a match for a phaser on any setting. Soldek flailed and fell with limbs sprawled, stunned. While everyone else stared, she crossed the room and searched his coat, tossing the weapon she found there to Jean-Luc.

"Commander -- "

"No," she said firmly. "You're on vacation, and you're staying that way." She pulled out the phaser, took her communicator from the other pocket, fastened it on her coat, and tapped it. "Report, deLio."

"Scans reveal tachyon emissions in the system, sir. No sign of a vessel yet. The transporter inhibitor grid is in place and functioning normally; no one has crossed our sensor net. Professor Soldek is currently teaching courses at the Vulcan Academy of Science, and was confused as to why we would think he would be anywhere else. The *Enterprise* will be here within six hours."

"I have one Romulan, stunned, for you to pick up. By the first missed check-in they'll know we have him. Issue a request for help from any Starfleet vessels in the vicinity. Let me know what response you receive. You have the pre-arranged coordinates to send someone down?"

"Yes, sir. I will be sending Lana'hai."

"Tell him we're underground, and that he'll find the entrance along the southern wall of the crater. Troi out." Deanna spun on the balls of her feet and trained her phaser on Vash, right between the eyes and from a scant two meters. "It would improve my ability to provide security if you'd let me know whether you bragged about this dig, or about knowing the illustrious Captain Picard, during your time on the Neutral Zone. That way I'd know what I was trying to protect."

Conklin and Blumenthal scrambled out of the way, edging along the wall to take up a position behind Jean-Luc. Vash gaped at her, backed a few steps, and held up her hands. "Look, I don't know what you -- "

"Stop trying to deceive me and tell me what you told them. It will be much quicker and much less painful that way."

"I just mentioned that I'd be on Zanzibar in a month, that's all -- I don't see how they could equate the name with any referent they use, it's completely Terran and I didn't mention -- "

"You're lying."

Vash made a frustrated noise. "I didn't tell them anything that would lead them here."

"You're still hiding something." Deanna smiled grimly. "I hope you like force fields and security guards, Vash. You're about to spend quite a bit of time with some of Starfleet's finest."

"Fine, whatever, I just mentioned his name -- just once. I didn't know the guy was a Romulan stooge until after the fight in the bar, when I saw him outside with a couple of centurions. And the next thing I knew they were after me. I barely got away. Happy?" Vash crossed her arms, anger plain in her face.

"No. Most of that was untrue. What are you not telling me?"

"Damn you! Damn! I hate telepaths," Vash shouted. "You're almost as bad as -- forget it. Just put me in your damned brig already."

"Why does it bother you so much to help me, when your safety is as much at risk as everyone else's?" Because it was making her look bad in front of Jean-Luc, of course, but that was a battle she'd already lost. Deanna looked Vash in the eye, keeping up her stern facade, but pitied her. On several counts, Jean-Luc really was her ideal choice of partner -- Deanna couldn't blame her for wanting so desperately for him to join her. But she couldn't show any sympathy; Vash would take advantage of it somehow. And there was the main difference between Vash and Jean-Luc, the thing that would have eventually split them apart even if they had tried -- Jean-Luc would only take advantages in the pursuit of the welfare of the greater good. Vash would take advantage of anyone and anything in pursuit of acquiring historical objects.

"Sir," came the pleasant tenor of Lana'hai's vocoder. Deanna pointed at the prone Romulan without turning around. Lana'hai's tentacles made soft slithering noises on the floor as he picked up the limp body and carried it from the room with more ease than one would have expected.

Vash, unlike the Romulan, didn't broadcast her move with any emotional warning -- Deanna wondered if she'd underestimated the woman, or if the decision had been that sudden. Vash's arm darted out to knock the phaser out of Deanna's hand, or take it, but either way she failed -- to do it she had to step forward, and the proffered leg was so like the setup in one of her mok'bara movements that Deanna's foot moved almost on its own. Vash fell, then sat up and glared up the nose of the phaser, now re-oriented on her once more.

"He overheard me trying to find transportation across the zone," she said, sullen. "I was looking for a specific artifact I'd heard was on one of the Romulan colonies. After I left the bar, I was talking to some Starfleet officer who mentioned in passing that the *Enterprise* was on the zone, and so I asked if it was scheduled to stop at the station any time soon, and then ended up explaining why I wanted to know. And then I was talking to Carl on a public subspace terminal, about this dig -- he was recalling me to begin preparations for it, and he was excited, told me all about where Zanzibar was. The next day I packed up and stopped in for a drink before getting on a transport, and this guy I remembered vaguely from the previous evening came up to me and asked if I still wanted transportation across the zone. I told him no, and I thought at the time he was a little slimy about it. It didn't occur to me to wonder how he showed up in the hotel bar, when the last time I'd seen him had been a dump on the other side of town, until I was on the transport and gone. He must have followed me and overheard everything."

Deanna thumbed the safety on the phaser. "Thanks. That wasn't so bad, was it?" She tapped her communicator as she left the room. "deLio, we should count on worst case scenario. . . ."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Jean-Luc leaned against the wall and watched Vash struggle to her feet as Deanna's stern commander's voice dwindled into the distance. "Some gentleman you are," she exclaimed, scowling at him. "You would've let her shoot me! You're supposed to be her commanding officer!"

"She's the ship's counselor. When she tells the captain to vacation, he pays attention -- she could remove him from duty, after all." The corner of his mouth crept up in spite of his better efforts. "I know well enough when she really means it."

"I don't buy it."

"I don't believe you have to," Jean-Luc said, heading after Deanna with the Romulan weapon dangling from his fingers. He heard Gary's incredulous exclamations and Carl's shrill questioning but left it behind quickly. Reaching the building's exit, he scrambled up the slope and found Deanna standing near the table, wiping down her face and neck and grimacing at how filthy the cloth she used was when she looked at it. She reached for another.

"I didn't think you needed to know -- it could easily have turned out to be nothing but my paranoia," she said. "When the computer showed her as a last-minute addition to the team it sent up a red flag. When her last reported whereabouts were the Neutral Zone, it made me worry about a different danger entirely."

She turned to look at him at last, and froze. Coated in red dirt and with a scorched hole in the front of her coat, she wasn't anything like the Deanna Troi who served aboard his ship. Her hair hung limp and in disarray, still in the confines of her beaded band but filthy beyond reason and matted in places. Even her eyelashes had a layer of dust on them. Her cleaning efforts had left streaks in the grime on her throat. Only her eyes, curious and a little worried, gave away her identity. Jean-Luc felt a tightening in his chest and concentrated on breathing for a moment, trying to regain composure. An odd mixture of emotions threatened to overwhelm him, defying clear labels.

"You need a shower," he said finally, gesturing in the direction of the encampment. "So do I, probably."

They strolled down the slope as if nothing were wrong and neither of them were armed. She crawled into the tent and emerged with a change of clothing for both of them. They went to the shack that passed for a bathroom, that stood behind some of the heavy machinery lying idle. It had a bench in one corner; she dropped the clean clothes on it and clouds of dust rose. She didn't bat an eye, just put the phaser on the end of the bench, carefully angled for quick retrieval, and began to pull off her coat. Jean-Luc jammed a short pole under the door handle -- at least it would slow someone down, until the dirt floor gave way -- and switched on the heater in the corner. He turned to find she'd already stripped down to her pants.

"I should have brought the regenerator," he exclaimed. "Your back looks like someone pounded you with a meat tenderizer, ma cher."

No response. She stepped out of the pants and moved to one of the four shower nozzles, and stood with her nose pointed at it while the sonics did away with the rusty powder coating she'd acquired. She pulled the band from her hair and ran her fingers through it, bending over, turning, raising her arms and head again to expose all hiding places that might harbor dirt. The bruises didn't seem to bother her.

He shook himself out of his voyeuristic observations and removed his clothing, noting that he was every bit as filthy, with one pocket almost full of soil from his slide into the chamber. Without the hair he didn't need as much time as she took -- in fact, with or without the hair, she spent far more time in the shower, eyes closed and expression distant. She turned it off at last and went to the bench, slowly putting on her clean undergarments.

When they stood fully clothed again, and clean, he handed her the hair band. "Dee."

"I think I can decipher some of the symbols," she said casually, as if picking up a conversation where they'd left off.

"Forget about the dig. In fact, when the ship gets here, we're leaving with it."

Finally, an emotional reaction. Surprise. She looked up at him and tilted her head quizzically. "So I did everything in my power to rescue your vacation for you, and now you're going to leave?"

He sighed and bowed his head. "When you put it that way. . . I'm sorry. I don't mean to sound ungrateful. But this simply isn't the sort of thing I should expect you to participate in, and it would be wrong of me to assume you'll stay. And if you aren't here, I'd rather not be, either. It isn't only that I'd miss you, or that Vash would be here -- I've just lost interest in this particular dig. They aren't all this primitive or filthy, and they aren't all Romulan outposts, or colonies, or whatever this will turn out to be. Let the others figure it out. I'd rather spend the rest of my leave with you."

She closed her eyes, and a beatific smile lit her face as she pulled her hair into the band once more. "Jean, I love you dearly, and I admire your determination and your ability to almost block my attempts at reading you, but you're a terrible liar. I know what we've found has piqued your interest. I'm not leaving with the ship and neither are you. We will, however, commandeer the bigger tent our ex-Vulcan used to inhabit. I'm bringing down some extra equipment from the ship when it arrives, to make things a little more livable."

"You're really that determined to see me enjoy this, aren't you?"

She picked up her coat and used the shower to clean it inside and out before putting it back on. He stopped her as she reached for his, presumably to do the same. While he stubbornly held her arm, she sighed and answered at last. "Archeology is a good distraction -- you immerse yourself in it, and it lets you get away from career in a way that being with me elsewhere doesn't do, because it appeals to you in the same way as space exploration. Spending leisure time with me brings us back around to work, when there's nothing else to distract you, because I'm also an officer -- conversations drift naturally to common ground and shared experiences. You need time away, Jean. You haven't been taking it."

Jean-Luc's throat closed on the words. He wasn't even certain what he'd been about to say. The odd set of mixed emotions returned. He'd never been here before, wherever it was she'd brought him to -- this place where all he lived for was her touch, yet he feared her, yet the last thing he wanted was to run away. She watched him wide-eyed, evidently uncertain of what to make of him.

"Jean?" she said at last.

He shook his head, not even sure why. "I can't -- "

"You can't. . . what?"

"You know how much I love you," he said, stepping closer, pulling on her arm, until he could hold her against him.

"What are you doing, Jean?"

"I'm -- "

"Nervous."

"Yes, damn you, and you're not making this easy. Marry me?"

She hadn't expected it. Her body went rigid, then relaxed gradually. "Oh. . . ."

"Just answer the damn question!" He couldn't breathe, all of a sudden. He hadn't planned this. Wrong planet, wrong circumstance, completely upside down from any romantic setting he could imagine.

"Give me a minute to recover, Jean, it isn't every day I get a marriage proposal."

"How many options do you have that it's so difficult to pick one?"

"Three. Yes, no and give me a chance to catch my breath and -- "

"Procrastinate?"

She took two steps back and gaped at him. "Of all the unromantic, unaffectionate ways you could come up with to propose -- and then you want an answer immediately! I think you ought to back up and think this through a little more."

No other way to go but through it. He'd committed himself to the path, and any wavering could be disastrous. "Answer the question."

"Like hell!"

He stared at her angry eyes, and knew suddenly why he'd felt this way, and how to save himself from death by Betazoid. Smiling, he laid a hand along her cheek. "Romance is nothing but fantasy, and I can give you flowers and jewelry later -- I wanted to ask the real you the question. This is you -- you're the officer, the counselor, the woman I love, all rolled into one, and you came to Zanzibar that way. You did your duty on all three counts without hesitation. I want you to keep being all three to me."

Anger faded, and tears gathered; she looked at him wonderingly. "Jean. . . ."

"You only have one option."

"Then *why* did you bother to ask?" she cried, pounding her fists on his shoulders, then bursting out laughing.

"I'm a romantic!"

She laughed harder, kissing the evil grin off his face, losing her amusement in favor of more intense emotions as the kiss deepened. He held her gently, cradling her head in his hand, and gathered her close again when he broke the kiss.

"Épousez-moi, mon petite cygne," he whispered.

She smiled and clutched the front of his sweater. {What am I supposed to say?}

{Oui.}

"Oui, ma chér poisson."

~*~*~*~*~*~

_Cher poisson, je vous aime aussi -- Dear fish, I love you too_

_Epousez-moi, mon petite cygne -- marry me, my little swan_

_Oui, ma cher poisson -- yes, my darling fish  
_


End file.
